


Panic in the Night

by sunshine (sunshinepiveh)



Category: Star Trek
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-21
Updated: 2014-10-21
Packaged: 2018-02-22 02:31:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2491169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunshinepiveh/pseuds/sunshine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim suffers from panic attacks at night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Panic in the Night

Jim stared unseeingly into the blackness of his room. He lay flat on his back and reminded himself once more to breathe. In slowly, out slowly. In slowly, out slowly. A rhythm. He had to establish a rhythm. What he shouldn't think about was O'Mally's dead body, scarlet blood covering his chest, his face pale and waxen. Everything was moving as if under water. Kirk shouted orders, was on his comm finding out what had happened to the rest of the away party, ordering McCoy to take care of O'Malley as he already was doing. A flurry of activity around him. Hypos, stretchers, medical personnel, somehow the scent of antiseptic following them even to the transporter room. The beaming platforms stained with blood. A bio-containment unit already dispatched to clean the mess, sterilize the area. As if a dead man's blood had never been there. He couldn't watch, couldn't do anything about O'Malley now. He had to salvage the away party.

The sharp click of his own boots as he flew down the corridor and into the lift. The turbolift was weirdly loud in its humming; the overhead lights were harsh. Jim had slowed his breathing, squared his shoulders, and had done what he had to do. He was good in a panic situation.

What he was not good at, never had been, was _after_ the panic situation. Like right now. In his bed. Reliving every moment. And he realized with an internal curse that his breathing was fucked up again. He tried to refocus his mind on a steady in and out. Why in god's name was he thinking of the very thing it would do no good for him to dwell on now? Tomorrow was another day to keep doing his job. He needed to sleep, damn it. He'd be no good on the bridge without rest. His eyes stared up toward the ceiling as his body pumped adrenaline through him in waves. 

Perhaps if he just laid here long enough it would go away. It always went away, he reminded himself. It always went away if he waited long enough. He just had to wait it out. He knew this, but he couldn't help but feel as if he wouldn't have time to wait it out. Because he was a failure. He'd always been a failure, a loser, a fraud. Now he had this ship to be responsible for. They shouldn't have given it to him, and he knew it, and soon they'd know it too. O'Malley's family would know it. O'Malley knew it the second he'd been hit. Jim turned onto his side into a foetal position, curling the sheet around him tightly. He wanted to throw up. No! He wouldn't allow his body to rebel against him. He clamped down hard on the urge and breathed slowly, steadily. Oh yeah. Right. Breathing.

But it was hard to breathe steadily when it felt like everything in your entire life had always been wrong. At that moment, he couldn't remember a single good thing that had ever happened to him. He knew it was crazy to think so. He knew that his brain was flooded with chemicals that impaired rational thought, knew that every time this happened he'd see things in the worst light and that later he would think of himself as crazy. And yet... he couldn't seem to rationalize these thoughts away. They pressed down on him, suffocating him, all consuming in their malice and despair. He wanted to cry now. No, throw up. No! Damn it! He would do neither. He cursed his rebellious body and flung himself out of bed. This was ridiculous. He'd get no sleep in this state.

In just his sweatpants and t-shirt, barefoot and with mussed hair, he stepped out of his quarters and into the hall, dimmed to the twilight of gamma shift. He didn't have a destination in mind, so he simply walked. He had to move, had to get away from the source of all these thoughts and feelings. He had to walk off the adrenaline coursing through his veins. His jaw cracked with a yawn. He was simultaneously exhausted and wide awake. There was no way to rest while panicking, and panicking was absolutely exhausting.

After a long and convoluted path, he padded into the observation deck and moved toward one of the couches near the window, and it was then he saw a silhouette, the first body he'd encountered during his excursion. He'd been careful to avoid the sounds of footsteps, lest the rest of the crew see him in his less-than-perfect state and realize he was a total sham. But this body was entirely still and silent. Even in the dim light and from behind, he'd recognize it anywhere.

“Mister Spock.” he said quietly, a hint of surprise in his voice.

“Captain.” Spock turned his head to regard Kirk, a hint of surprise in his climbing eyebrow as he took in the state of his Captain's dress.

Well, Jim figured, it was too late now to worry about what impression the Vulcan had of him. Spock had already tried to choke him out, and had marooned him on Delta Vega. What else could possibly go wrong with their relationship?

“You're up late.” Jim observed, somewhat intrigued. He sat himself down on the other side of the couch from Spock, staring out at the dark sky.

Spock was silent for a moment, then responded simply with “As are you.”

“Couldn't sleep.” Jim explained shortly, and Spock took his first real look at the man. Kirk's eyes were wide and bright, an unnatural focus to them for such an hour, especially after so taxing a day. Kirk fidgeted with his hands as he looked out the window, his muscles tense, as if on high alert. When he focused closely, he could make out the rapid pulse and barely controlled shallow breathing of the man.

“Captain... are you well?” he asked carefully.

Jim turned his head to regard his first officer, and what Spock saw there took his breath away. Panic. Unbridled panic, made worse by the fact that Jim felt he'd been caught. After too long a pause, Jim answered, “I'm fine.”, the words tumbling out rapidly.

Spock glanced around the empty, quiet room. He'd come here for meditation and solace, enjoying the calm atmosphere. There was no cause for alarm here. “You appear to be distressed. Is something amiss?”

Jim ran a hand through his hair in clear agitation. “No! No. Look, I'm sorry I disturbed you, Spock.” He rose hastily. “I'll just go... leave you some... space... or whatever.” He waved his hand vaguely then started to walk toward an exit, his eyes scanning the room as if trying to figure out where to go next.

“That is unnecessary.” Spock stated clearly and quickly, before losing the agitated man.

“...what?”

“There is no need for you to go. You did not disturb me.”

“Oh... uhm --”

“Please,” he nodded back at the vacated side of the couch, “do not leave on my account, Captain.”

Kirk let out a breath in a huff. “It's Jim, Spock. We're off duty.” He resumed his seat with nervous energy, and tried not to look directly at Spock. Vulcans supposedly liked silence. Maybe Spock would leave him alone if he sat very still.

“Why are you so agitated... Jim?” Spock asked carefully. When Jim tensed, Spock hastened to add. “Forgive me if it is too personal to ask. It is simply that it is not your usual state.”

Jim closed his eyes, still tense, and coloured with shame. “It's just illogical human weakness, Spock. Don't worry about it.”

“I would be remiss as First Officer if I did not concern myself with the welfare of my captain.”

Jim sighed and was silent a long moment. He mumbled quietly, “It's a panic attack, Spock.”

“Why are you panicked?” he asked in true confusion.

“It's not... it's not a logical response. It's a human thing. Sometimes, some people are just chemically unbalanced in a certain way -- Don't give me that look.” he snapped. “I passed my psych exam. It doesn't interfere with my ability to command. It interferes with my ability to sleep. It's my own special fucked up way of processing negative emotions or something. I'm my own special emotionally stunted snowflake. Yay me!” he added dryly.

“I do not follow.”

“Of course you don't.” he ran his fingers once more through his hair, further disrupting it. “When something bad has happened, after the catastrophe is over, or maybe it's not even a catastrophe -- maybe I just had a bad day, or something reminds me of a bad memory -- it could be any stupid thing to trigger it -- My body response by pumping me full of adrenaline, as if I'm in an actual panic scenario. And I can't logic my way out of it, because it clouds the region of the brain responsible for rational thought. And I can't control my bodily responses, so I just have to sort of... ride it out.”

“I... see.” Spock responded slowly, although he did not totally understand. “So you are essentially panicking about... nothing?”

“Yeah, sort of.” Jim answered flatly. “Fucked up, right? Only once it's started, it's not about nothing any more. I told you, my logic centres are shut down. So I pretty much just remember every bad thing that ever happened to me on loop until I pass out from exhaustion.”

“Have you explained this condition to Doctor McCoy?” Spock asked with some alarm.

Jim barked a humourless laugh. “Oh, he knows. And some people can take medication for it once one starts, but as with everything, I'm allergic. I told you I passed my psych exams, Spock. I'm just one of the unlucky guys who gets to deal with this shit in the good old fashioned way of letting it run its course.”

“It seems most unpleasant.” Spock answered, uncomfortably aware of the similarities in what Jim described and his own general state of being after The Day. It had been at least a month until he'd been able to resume an acceptable meditative state. But at least he did not suffer from such an affliction with regularity and in perpetuity. How could the human possibly remain sane when inundated by such chaotic and destructive emotions?

“Ha! You can say that again.”

They sat in silence for some time, each in their own thoughts, until finally, Spock spoke again. He simply could not sit idly by while the sentient being sitting next to him so visibly suffered. “I believe I can assist you.”

Jim turned to face him sceptically. “How?”

“My people are able to join minds...” Spock began to explain haltingly... “It is called a mind meld. It is typically a very intimate gesture, shared between mates or family, however,” he hastened to add, “it is also used by Healers, to assist those in turmoil. I would meld with you in an attempt to stabilize your chaotic thinking, mute your emotional responses, regulate your physiological state.”

Jim looked at him dubiously. Spock could do all of that in a meld? And what would he get out of it? And what would he  _see?_ Plus, he could remember the last time he'd melded with a Spock, and that hadn't ended so pleasantly.  _Emotional transference, my ass_ , he thought somewhat bitterly. But this was an altogether different situation, with an altogether different Spock. Maybe....

Spock hastened to add. “If you are concerned for your privacy, please be assured that I will not view anything you do not wish me to see. I would exercise the utmost care.”

Jim was intrigued to see that Spock himself seemed nervous to be making the offer. He didn't want to seem like a cold asshole for refusing, and hey, what did he have to lose? He was already having a panic attack. It wasn't as if his night could get much worse. He relaxed his shoulders minutely and let out a breath. “Sure.” he agreed, moving to face Spock and inch in a bit closer. “Do whatever you need to do.”

Tentatively, delicately, Spock laid his fingers on Jim's psi points and muttered the ritual words in his native tongue under his breath, as his mind slid forward and into Jim's.

Distantly, Spock registered his own astonishment at how fluidly he'd entered into the mind of the other. When he'd attempted a meld with Nyota, it had been uncomfortable and ill-fitting; the image of a cat being rubbed the wrong direction came instantly to mind. He'd speculated that it had to do with their differing physiologies, and had wondered at his own parents' companionship, and how they'd made due for so many years. It was certainly not something he would ever ask his father. But now with Jim -- the meld was unlike anything he'd ever experienced.

His essence seemed to glide effortlessly into Jim's, like water filling a cup. On the surface, Jim's emotions were indeed in turmoil, and the tortured mind instantly perceived a refuge in Spock, much to his delight, and sought him out as if magnetized. It was intimate beyond his imagining, a mental caress and embrace, and Jim's essence was so  _warm_ . Jim, too, felt the presence of the  _other_ , and all he could register was an overwhelming sensation of for the first time in his life, not feeling alone. It was as if he'd been in chronic pain his entire life and had only now noticed due to its absence. The tension melted out of his body as he breathed a sigh of relief, a full, satisfying breath as the panic muted and lifted away, finally allowing him to expand his chest. He positively  _drank in_ the sensation of this other in his mind, this welcome balm he'd never known he'd been missing.

_An anchor_ , Spock's mind supplied. Jim provided him with an emotional anchor, and he provided the same to Jim. It was fascinating that he could find such stability within the being that had so provoked him. He would study the phenomenon more closely, but  _oh..._ Jim's enthusiasm sent a pleasant shiver down his spine. He sent another wave of comfort to the being, and satisfied that he'd accomplished what he'd set out to, he began to gently draw his mind away.

Wild panic flared up again in a split second as Jim perceived the abandonment.  _No! Together! Stay! Neverleave-neveralone- I need I need I need please please please_ . Jim's very  _katra_ seemed to call to him, and he could not deny the same feelings of desperation welling up from inside of himself at the thought of being apart from this refuge once more. His mind was raw and had been for some time now -- he'd lost T'Pring, his mother, his planet. He did not wish to relinquish this connection.

_“Jim,”_ he tried to reason with him. “ _I must part us. We cannot sustain this indefinitely.”_

_“Please? Please, Spock --”_

_“It... it would not be ethical to --”_

_“I give you permission! Whatever you want. I promise. Please?”_

And because Jim had pleaded, and because Spock was sometimes weak, he gave in to the logic of the situation, and began to weave the most tenuous of mental links between them. Not strong enough to be a bond, not weak enough to break once the meld had ended. He would not allow himself to question the ethics of what he was doing. Both himself and Jim were sentient beings who were in pain and who were anchored by one another. Within moments, the deed was done.

Gently now, with subtle care, Spock was able to extract his consciousness and end the meld without complaint. A low buzzing remained in the back of Jim's mind, reminiscent of the grounded, Vulcan presence. When he closed his eyes and focused on it, the panic sensation was held at bay. His jaw cracked with an exhausted yawn.

“You are tired.” Spock said simply.

“Yeah. I should probably get back to my room and try to salvage what sleep I can before alpha.”

“I will walk you there. I would welcome rest myself.”

The duo padded silently toward officers quarters, as if it was perfectly natural for them to walk in tandem in the small hours of gamma. As if it was something they'd always done. When they finally reached Jim's door he paused and regarded the stoic man before him. “I want to thank you Spock.”

“Thanks are illogical.” Spock hedged, feeling uncomfortable.

“Nevertheless, for what you did tonight... for what you're doing for me... thank you.”

Spock's eyes softened as he regarded Jim's sleepy form before him. “You are welcome.”

“Night Spock.” Jim mumbled as the door to his quarters closed behind him.

In the hall, Spock stared after for just a moment, focused inwardly on the dull buzz in the back of his own mind, as he felt the human presence slip almost immediately toward unconsciousness. Into the empty hall he whispered, “Goodnight, Jim.”


End file.
